Quidditch Fanfiction Competition Season 3
by My Soul From Out That Shadow
Summary: This is season three of the quidditch fanfiction competition. My posts will be made into a chapter story, each chapter unrelated to the other and between 900 - 3000 words long. The pairing will change as the story becomes updated. The first story is titled "For Love Is Strong As Death". Written for the QFC by the Captain of the Kenmare Kestrels.
1. For Love Is Strong As Death (Jily)

**A/N: I normally do not do tragedy. Not at all. At all, what so ever. I do not kill off characters _I love_. If I shipped James/Lily, this would be out of the norm for me. **

**_WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH!_**

* * *

**_Set me as a seal upon thine heart..._**

Harry squealed and laughed with joy as his fleshly little hands tried to catch the brightly colored little puffs that came from the tip of his wand. He'd always hated reading books, but this spell really did come in handy for playing with kids, _'Like the book said. Honestly James, if you would just read more.' _He laughed and Harry copied him, closing his hands around a golden colored puff of smoke. Harry seemed to love it just as much as the other kids, his face beaming and bright, his eyes lit up and alive, hands grabbing even before the smoke came near them.

Lily had always loved the cute sound of Harry's laughter and watched in the doorway for a moment as Harry played. But the parents relationship came before the child and the child sprang forth from the love the mother and father shared…or something like that. That was what Lily always said, and he agreed with her. They loved Harry, but being together and "reconnecting", as she called it, was just as important. Maybe next year, when this was all over, they could go on a family vacation? Lily had always adored the water. Her red hair would look gorgeous in the sun.

"Ok Harry, time for bed."

He handed Harry to Lily who curled her arm around him and held him against her hip as threw his wand on the sofa, and stretched as the bones in his back popped back into place. He may have been young and in his early twenties but after being down there on the floor and playing with Harry for…how long had it been anyway? He yawned.

Hopefully he would have enough energy for Lily tonight. It had been so _long_ since-

He jumped up from the couch. The front door had burst open and Lily was in the hall! He ran towards the front door, and in the light of the hallway, it was easy to see who was under the cloak.

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"

But he hadn't needed to say anything. Lily was already gone, already upstairs, maybe even already in Harry's room and jumping out the window, her gorgeous red hair flying behind her as she left him to protect both herself and Harry…without a wand. Neither of them had a wand!

Voldemort laughed as he dived, his hand outstretched. _"Avada Kedavra!"_

He heard a rushing sound just as his fingers touched the handle, his wedding ring glinting green in the light of the spell.

**_As a seal upon thine arm..._**

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

A faint green light filled the hallway as she heard something thump against the floor. She screamed and shrieked as she pushed several empty cardboard boxes against the door. She ran to the opposite wall and tried opening the window, but it was locked and shut tight with a sticking charm…a sticking charm she couldn't undo without her wand. Harry cried against her hip in tandem with the tears she could feel sliding down her cheeks as she tried wandlessly apparating, trying desperately to get them out, but was met with something solid blocking the way. She tried sending out a blast of magic, but it was too weak.

She couldn't get out. She was too late. She didn't have a wand. Harry was crying. Voldemort was coming.

They were going to die.

James was already dead…and _he_ was coming closer to the door.

Voldemort.

She ran to the crib as the door burst open and with a wave of his wand, the boxes she'd piled against the door were set aside, pushed up against the wall. His eyes fixed on Harry and she put him in his crib and spread herself out over the crib as best she could. She would rather die than let let Voldemort take her son! Hopefully she _could_ die instead of her son. Even if he took Harry and raised him for his own purpose, _anything_ would be better than her son dying!

"Not Harry, not Harry, please, not Harry…"

"Stand aside, you silly girl. Stand aside now."

"Not Harry, no, _please_, take me! Kill me instead!"

"This is my last warning."

"Not Harry, _please_, have mercy! _Have mercy!_ Not Harry! Not Harry, please! I'll do anything!"

"Stand aside. Stand aside girl!"

In that moment, she knew he had made up his mind. He was going to kill her. Why he had tried to spare her, she didn't know. It didn't matter. All that mattered was keeping her son safe.

The green light barreled towards her.

**_For love is strong as death..._**

She stood beside James, watching, unseen, over their son. Harry clutched the bars of his crib and stood up, looking into the face of the inhuman monster standing above him, wand pointed at his face. He cried for them and her heart ached with a horrible reality. He didn't know about death yet. He was just a baby. All he knew was that he wanted his father, his mother, and that he felt lost without his parents.

The same way she felt lost without him. She had lost her son, just as much as he had lost his mother. It was enough to tear her soul apart…but she would never want him to die. As inevitable as it was, facing down the end of Voldemort's wand, _she didn't want him to die. _She wished she could take the killing curse for him, but it would only go right through her. There was nothing she could do.

She'd never felt so helpless.

What kind of a monster would kill a _baby?_

_"Avada Kedavra._"

Voldemort's body collapsed, and what lay on the floor instead made her stomach turn. The house was destroyed, and in the midst of all the rubble, sat their son, Harry. A lightning scar bleeding on his forehead as he screamed from the pain, from the fear, from the loss. He wanted his dad. He wanted his mum. She would always be there, but she would never be able to comfort him. She would never be able to hold him in her arms again. He would never write home about his adventures at Hogwarts or the wonderful adventures he'd had. Would he be a prankster like James? Would he be more soft hearted and less of a bully? She hoped he would be kind, but she had no say.

She could not raise her own son.

She wished she could comfort him but there was nothing she could do.

At least her son was alive.

She buried her face into James's chest and wept. She would watch over Harry, until Harry joined them both. She would never, not once, stop loving him.

Never.

**…****_for love is strong as death._**


	2. In The King's Eyes (Harrymort)

**A/N: Without the authors notes, this story is 2,958 words long.**

* * *

Footsteps marched briskly towards his door with an urgent rapid staccato that caught his attention at once. He threw up a shield as powerful as he could cast as the heavy wooden door rammed open, hitting the wall with a surprising thunderous crash that knocked a few books off the shelves in his office. They hit the floor with a resounding whack, many of them opening to different pages.

He breathed a sigh of relief as his own trepidation hit the floor beside the books. He walked around his desk to pick up the fallen tomes, inspecting them for damage. Many of these were very old and were to be treated delicately and with care. He was thankful that none of them had been damaged by the fall and replaced them all back on the shelves with sticking spells.

"What are you doing here Harry?"

"Oh, so now I can't come and visit you, is that it?"

Before he could answer, Harry bodily grabbed him and threw him onto the sofa, before striding across the room and crushing their lips together brutally, bodily, boldly pinning him to the couch. He pushed Harry away as he tried to pull back, feeling more than a little bruised. Harry was not normally so rough and he'd had no time to prepare mentally or physically for such treatment.

"What are you doing?"

"That should be obvious to you, seeing as you've had so much time to _yourself_ lately."

Green eyes were flames of hatred, anger, disgust, each more wounding than the last. Harry was sickened with him. It couldn't be... "What are you going to do to me…Potter?"

"I should ask you the same question. What _are_ you going to do to me, Voldemort? When were you going to tell me you were…that you…and Bellatrix…" Harry's voice tightened in his throat, a heavy ball that he couldn't swallow forming a knot. No matter the famed stubbornness of the man atop him, a single tear slipped from his eye, tracking a path of pain down his cheek. It served only to fuel his ire. "YOU DID THIS TO ME! I HATE YOU!"

Harry's crushing hold was far more than bruising. If he continued on much longer, there was a good chance his bones would be broken. He took a deep breath and focused through the pain…pain that he could see Harry was enjoying far too much for his liking. This was not like Harry at all, but than again, Harry had more than enough reason. He was, however, thankful that they were not back to being enemies once again. "No, you don't hate me. If you hated me, you wouldn't be reining fire down upon me for the slight you've imagined that I have caused you."

"It's not imagined! I _heard_ her bragging! And you've been gone!"

He sighed. "I _have_ been gone, and this office has been cold and eerily quiet. The voices and antics of my death eaters are very grating and I cannot count the number of times I have lost my patience."

"So to make up for it you went and f-" He covered Harry's mouth.

"I do not appreciate your crassness, especially when I have done _nothing_ of the sort."

"Well it's kind of suspicious, don't you think, that you've been gone? That you leave before I wake up and that you get in when I'm already dead asleep? Don't you think it's suspicious that you don't look me in the eye anymore? You haven't touched me in _weeks_."

He could not touch him. He knew what touching would lead to and that had to be saved, or the event would be ruined.

"Harry, how could I touch another? You know as well as I how none affect me. You are the only one who has ever had an affect upon me of that form and fashion. You have seen the memories of those who gained my..._attention_ in my younger years. You have seen what was pulled from their minds. You _know_."

"True, they didn't _affect_ you then. It doesn't mean that now that you've been with me, you're not _affected_ by them anymore."

"Doesn't it? And since when have you known me to be a masochist?"

"What?"

"My servants…they smell of death. Their scents are acrid, acidic, tainted. Their blood bleeds as black as mine bleeds poison. I see nothing attractive about this absence of light. I see nothing attractive about disloyalty, about those who would stab me in the back for their own gain. Such personalities do not play well in endeavoring to certain…sensitivities. You _know_ this."

"And Bellatrix?"

"Bellatrix is attempting to destroy an event that means a great deal to me by way of perjury."

"And what is this event?"

"It is a gift."

"I don't understand. Yule ended five days ago. Are you giving a gift to…yourself?"

He smiled. "In fact, I am. Though I am not sure whether I will receive it, to be honest."

"Just tell me what it is and I'll get it for you."

"I will tell you in five more days. In that time, I request that you attempt to restrain yourself from discovering this event and the gift attached."

"Why can't I know?"

"Because I will be seventy five this year, Harry. I will never again gain the chance to receive my gift in this fashion. To receive anything close to this, I would have to wait twenty five more years. I am entirely unwilling to wait that long for something that would be less spectacular. I have already waited long enough."

Harry frowned and got up, going to the cabinet and pulling out a bottle. He came and sat down beside him as he began to undo the ties of his robes. "Are you celebrating an anniversary?"

"In the wizarding world, when you have lived to twenty five or have had an arrangement for twenty five years, whether that be a company, a marriage, or any other type of contract, the longevity is celebrated. It is called Silver Jubilee. At fifty years, it becomes Golden Jubilee, rather than Silver. This year shall be my Diamond Jubilee."

Harry's eyes widened. "So there's going to be diamonds everywhere?"

"The party shall be themed around diamonds."

"Wow. So the gift to yourself is going to be a diamond of some kind?"

"I would ask you not to think on it. Do not interfere, do not attempt to discover it. If you do, you shall ruin my gift."

"How could I ruin your gift by discovering it? I can keep it out of my mind for you."

"Please, trust me."

"I don't like secrets."

"This isn't a secret. It is a surprise. I ask you not to interfere. If you love me…"

"Alright," Harry sighed. "Alright, I won't look for it. But if I accidentally stumble across it…"

"You won't. Stay away from Malfoy Manor until December Thirty First. You will understand then."

"I'll understand why you've stayed away, why you're not touching me, why Bellatrix wants to ruin this, and why you can't tell me anything about a surprise that's supposed to be for you?"

"Yes. It will all make sense in five days time."

Harry shrugged. "It better be worth it."

He hoped it would be.

* * *

Hermione and Luna were not the people he'd expected to see knocking on the door of a Slytherin's house, much less the house of _his_ Slytherin. He'd been even more shocked when they'd announced that he was to be dragged around with them on a spa trip, both by courtesy and order of Voldemort.

To say he wasn't excited in the least would be an understatement. And he'd been a little unsure when he'd heard Luna and Hermione talk about _waxing _of all things. When Aunt Petunia had woman over at the house, they'd always spoken of it as something painful. But by the time the day was half over, he'd actually found the day to be surprisingly enjoyable. That was probably that, due to the numbing spells, waxing didn't hurt half as bad.

Hermione and Luna dropped him off at the house where he found a note stuck to the front door. In Voldemort's flawless script it read: _go upstairs and change._ He walked inside and it was immediately apparent that Voldemort wasn't home yet, due to the absence of a warming fire in the grate for both himself and Nagini. He walked upstairs to find a glaring white bag, blindingly obvious on the black bedspread, laying on the bed.

He gave a snort at Voldemort's dry sense of humor. Honestly, _white._ As if he was _that_ blind...

He opened the bag and gasped.

An incredibly nice black on black suit, pressed and ready to be worn, was resting on a hanger. He loved it intensely. It was as far from wizard robes as you could get but high class enough that no on could accidentally mistake it for muggle attire. The breast pocket, the shirt, the tie, the collar, and the parts below the collar were all silk. Very soft silk, actually. His dress shoes were shined to a nice polished finish. The only part he struggled with putting on was-

"Damn tie," he muttered.

"Would you like some help with that?"

Voldemort didn't wait for his answer before easily tying the tie for him. He whinged. "You don't even _wear_ suits."

"And what do you think I used to wear when I worked for Borgin and Burkes?"

"But that was _years_ ago."

He could almost feel Voldemort smirking and he knew why. Voldemort was used to the age old argument between them by now of the fact that he was able to do almost everything better than Harry. "I will teach you to do this at some point, but now is not that time. Take my arm, Harry."

He turned around and was stunned. All down the front of his fine robes were a line of diamond buttons holding his robes together with two belts draped sexily around his hips, outlining and highlighting his thin, tall frame. His cloak was pinned behind his back by two diamond buttons attaching the robe to his shoulders. The robe draped dramatically behind him.

He had never seen Voldemort look so impressive.

_"Wow_…um, what was I supposed to do again?"

Voldemort smirked. "My arm?"

"Right."

"I cannot believe that after all these years, my looks are still enough to stun you into forgetfulness."

"I have to get used to the fact that you're never going to stop being beautiful."

"Thank you."

He'd expected apparition when he took Voldemort's arm. So to walk downstairs on Lord Voldemort's arm, through the open door, and to the sight of an incredible black state coach, pulled by handsome black stallions, was amazing. Voldemort stopped in front of the closed coach door, and turned to him, a red rose in his left hand where a black ring with a black stone contrasted with his white hand, complimenting the delicate red flower.

"Might I ask if you would accompany me to the ball tonight?"

He shrugged. "I don't exactly look like Cinderella."

"I always preferred a prince."

He accepted the rose, playing along. "Well I'd be happy to be your prince tonight."

Voldemort smiled pleasantly and held open the coach's door, lending him a polite hand, guiding him carefully up the steps. Voldemort walked up the same steps and took the seat beside him.

"I really like this. It's very classy."

"This is a duplication of the Diamond Jubilee State Coach. The gold was, of course, changed to silver."

"And the insignia changed to the Slytherin crest."

"Of course."

"I'm surprised you used stallions though."

"Are you?"

He nodded. "I expected you to go with thestrals."

"I should hope this occasion would not be so macabre as to warrant their use."

* * *

The night had so far been all that he had hoped for. The finest diamonds, both green and white, were inlaid amongst the dinnerware, the decorations, the dance floor. They were fine, very nearly perfect, but he had made sure that the finest diamond would be saved.

"Tonight has been amazing. I didn't expect them to give you so many extravagant gifts."

"I believe my best gift is yet to come."

"I thought I already gave you mine."

"There is one more gift you might give me tonight. And I believe that if you are to give it, that you should give it about this time. Come."

He took Voldemort's arm and walked up the grand staircase to the landing where Voldemort would make his birthday announcement…or ask for a gift. He was expecting that. What he was _not_ expecting was what Voldemort did instead.

Voldemort knelt down on one knee, and looked into his eyes. "You have turned my life upside down. Within less than ten years of having you in my life, I have achieved an almost complete take over of the ministry. You have stood beside me, lending all that you could, and more than you believed you could, as you helped me to achieve both major and minor goals. You stood beside me and celebrated in every victory. You mourned every loss. You have been invaluable not only in monetary relief, but in a moral support I could receive nowhere else. Where others stabbed me in the back, you dragged me bodily from the fire, risking your own life, to spare my own. I owe you much, but all I have is already yours. I have only one other thing to give to you, Harry Potter. Myself. Would you do me the honor of becoming my Slytherin consort?"

Harry's smiled was brighter than any diamond, even the one he was presented. "Yes."

He smiled as he kissed his beloved future consort.

When they pulled back, the countdown was beginning. And the room chanted, counting down. He did not join, feeling such things were beneath him. But his new future consort held no qualms about chanting with the rest of his death eaters.

When new year hit, Harry smiled and kissed him for good luck. And in that moment he knew, his luck had finally changed.

* * *

"Of course, I can tell even in this light that is a top quality diamond. The cut is perfect, it's internally flawless, it simply _must_ be top quality. Do you have any idea of it's qualifications?"

"Er…no."

The look on Pansy Parkinson's face was scandalous. "You mean he didn't _tell_ you?"

"It's impolite to ask how much money something was. Why can't we simply be satisfied that this is a top quality ring? Especially if it's so _obvious _to you."

Voldemort, who had been near him the entire night, came to his rescue. He could practically hear almost the entire hall listening in. "The band is the highest quality of goblin made platinum. Both the polish and symmetry of the diamond are, of course, perfect. It is three carat, heart shaped, the cut scale is rated as ideal, and on the scale of clarity, it is internally flawless. Of course, I would buy nothing less than a rating of a D colored diamond for my future consort. All in all, he owns what is called a triple A-rated diamond."

"If the asking can be forgiven my lord, how much was it?"

"Ten thousand galleons."

His eyes bugged. That was _way_ more than his firebolt! Firebolts may be top of the line but they weren't the muggle equivalent of _fifty-thousand pounds!_

The whole hall seemed impressed by the buy. Even the rich unshakeable Lucius Malfoy seemed staggered.

"It is late and myself and my future consort have much to attend to. For tonight, my friends, we bid you adieu."

A chorus of goodnights followed them out the door and Voldemort helped him back into the carriage. Once they were out of sight, he rested his head in Voldemort's lap.

"Fifty thousand pounds…why did Malfoy seem so shocked?"

"At best, he is worth one ninth of that ring."

"You're worth more than _Lucius Malfoy_?"

"I am the heir of Slytherin. Of course I am worth more."

He snorted and shrugged. "Doesn't surprise me. So I get why Bellatrix was so jealous now. But I still don't understand why we couldn't be…intimate for awhile."

"There is a bonding ritual on new years eve that must be completed for every pair of lovers. There is a specific one that pertains to a new engagement. It requires that you must remain chaste for a month beforehand."

"So…I guess tonight we can be a little bit more _un_chaste?"

Voldemort smiled. "That would be preferable."

"Alright. Just promise me that you won't choose a bonding ritual that will make me be chaste before our wedding night."

"Trust me when I say that I will not be committing chastity again."

"You make it sound like a sin."

"You are beautiful. Of course it's a sin."

He smiled. "Thank you for making me feel like a prince."

Voldemort smiled a heartbreaking smile that tugged uncomfortably on his heart strings. "Thank you, Harry, for making me feel like a king."

* * *

**A/N: In american money, 50,000 pounds is 100,000 us dollars. Also, the link to Voldemort's outfit is Death Eater Card no.1 by madcarrot on deviant art if anyone is curious.**


	3. A Different Road Taken

He laid down on a small couch in Dumbledore's office, with something warming his front and something soft at his back. He was unaware of what was happening to him, for the most part. He couldn't tell what time it was and while he could perfectly hear what people around were saying, he was too numb to make sense of it, too tired, too tired to try to explain what happened again. He wanted to go to sleep...

"Mr. Potter, sit up!" Hands grabbed him and roughly pulled him into a sitting position twisting his arm and rubbing against the burning cut.

Dumbledore's unusually somber blue gaze turned steely. "You have permission to help interrogate my students, Rufus, however, you do not have permission to mistreat them. I am afraid that should you continue to mishandle Mr. Potter is this way, then I shall be forced to rescind your invitation into this castle."

"Quite, right of course. Scrimagour, if you please?" The head auror stepped back and the minister stepped forward. "Let the record show that Mr. Potter shall be taking Veritaserum, a Class B potion strictly controlled by the ministry. Let the record show that Mr. Potter has received a calming draught and an alertness draught, and that the potion given to him was not the antidote to veritaserum. Let the record show that Mr. Potter is not trained to resist the effects of Veritaserum."

The Minister Fudge stepped back from him and a healer coaxed him to open his mouth, placing three drops on his tongue.

"State your name for the record."

"Harry James Potter."

"Mr. Potter, the night you used an engorgement charm on your aunt, you met me in a room at the Leaky Cauldron. What did you eat that night?"

"Nothing. I was too afraid I was going to be expelled."

A few witches and wizards around him stared at him in sympathy. He briefly remembered the minister telling him that they didn't send children to Azkaban for "blowing up their aunts".

"Mr. Scrimagour, Minister, if I may, he's just a boy."

Lucius Malfoy, who had accompanied the minister and the ministry officials, nodded politely. "Yes, he is just a boy. Perhaps the fact that he arrived in front of the crowd with a dead student in his arms was mere coincidence. Perhaps that cut on his arm was, in fact, just a tree branch and not Cedric Diggory's attempt to defend himself."

"Quiet, all of you. Let him speak."

"Thank you, Mr. Scrimagour. Let the record show that the effects of Veritaserum are in full affect. Now, Mr. Potter, what happened the night of June Twenty Fourth, after you grabbed the Triwizard Cup?"

"We were transported to a graveyard. Both me and Cedric thought it was still a part of the third task. I noticed a very large cauldron and then my scar started to burn. I heard someone say, "Kill the spare" and Wormtail cast the killing curse with Voldemort's wand."

A flinch was echoed by almost everyone across the room, except for Dumbledore, who was watching him with sympathy.

"How do you know his servants name?"

"Because I saw him last year in the shrieking shack."

"The boy is clearly mad."

"Nah, but I don't think Mr. Potter-"

"Quiet. Mr. Potter, why did you meet Wormtail in the shrieking shack?"

"Sirius Black pulled Ron in through the tunnel under the whomping willow. Me and Hermione followed them to try to save Ron from Sirius and Professor Lupin followed us so he could help Sirius Black kill Peter Pettigrew."

"Is Wormtail Peter Pettigrew, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes."

"And why did Remus Lupin and Sirius Black want to kill Peter Pettigrew?"

"Because Peter Pettigrew betrayed my parents to Voldemort and got them killed."

"And why did you not turn in Peter Pettigrew that night?"

"Because he turned into a rat and ran away."

"How did he turn into a rat, Mr. Potter?"

"His animagus form is a rat."

Around him, he could see aurors and ministry officials putting the pieces together. "So Peter Pettigrew was made secret keeper to the Potters instead of Sirius Black and he turned in your parents to he-who-must-not-be-named. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Then when confronted by Sirius Black for betraying your parents, he killed the muggles surrounding him and chopped off his own finger to make it look as though he had been obliterated by the explosion. He then escaped as a rat so that he could not be found by the ministry while Sirius Black was charged with Murder and the death of your parents. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And as a rat, Peter Pettigrew escaped that night from the shrieking shack by turning into a rat animagus. He wasn't stopped because Remus Lupin had turned into a werewolf and Sirius Black was trying to protect yourself, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And he returned to his former master and resurrected him. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Right. Well, I can assure you Dumbledore that there will be a full-scale-"

An auror stepped through the floo. "Rufus, you have to get to the ministry! Now! A man identified as Peter Pettigrew just fell through one of the floo grates. He's dead."

The office went entirely quiet, before mass pandemonium erupted.

"SILENCE!"

Everyone froze and watched Dumbledore. "Administer the antidote to Veritaserum to Mr. Potter and I will accompany you to the ministry. Madame Pomfrey, be sure Harry here receives both a calming draught and a sleeping draught. Minerva, you are acting Deputy Headmistress until I return and classes are cancelled until further notice. I will return at some point within…" Professor Dumbledore looked at his watch "…three days."

He hardly noticed the potion being given to him, Madame Pomfrey levitating him to the infirmary…even the dog who wagged his tail, walking beside her, all these were just background. What was forefront in his mind was that he was going home. Sirius was going to take him home.

They were finally going to be a family.


	4. Through The Eyes of a Madman

**WARNING: Dark!harry, minor character death.**

**A/N: I felt that this fic needed some explanation before you start reading it. It's definitely AU and it's not direct or forward. There are no explanations for events, simply hints that things in this alternate universe don't happen the same way as they did in the books. Also, I'm not spelling everything out for you. It's called through the eyes of a madman for a reason. It's supposed to be vague, a bit chaotic or hard to follow, and the tone I was going for is "mad". It's up to you to decide which voice is insane.**

* * *

You know many things.

You know the feeling of sorrow.

Sometimes, it lances through your heart like a scalpel when they shun you, hate you, cast you out. Sometimes it's a dull ache. When what little family you have left turns you away, when your friends abandon you, when you're left on your own. The edges throb dully. You desperately want to reach out to someone, but you don't know who. You don't have anyone.

Everyone has you.

The feeling goes beyond sorrow as it becomes:

Pain.

You know the feeling of pain.

The deep aching throb that hurts for days afterward, pounds like a clenched fist in the stomach, the back, the face, the eye. The bruises pulse painfully and wake you up in the middle of the night when you roll over.

When you don't wake up, the pain simply becomes part of your nightmare. It beats. Sometimes it lashes and burns and welts, the crack of leather like lightning.

"Sticks and stone may break my bones but words can never hurt me."

Words don't hurt as much as belts and fists, so you say. But you know that you lie, and therein lies:

Shame.

You know the feeling of shame.

Your face is red and you're eyes flash white. It takes a little while to see the crowds beaming in front of you, all battling to get a better look at your sooty clothes, scruffy shoes, messy hair. "Nothing to see here," but they don't agree. You wish they would. You don't agree with the Dursleys.

You are not a sideshow freak.

But they think you are, those crowds of witches and wizards. Their voices sway so quickly from love to hate. They lash out like the belt, again and again. You're a liar, you're insane, you're a cheat, you're to blame.

One by one, every friend you've managed to make, a family of your own, falls away. Bitten by basilisks, drowning in lakes, dying in flashes of green light, the world lashes out at you again and again.

Your shame becomes:

Anger.

You have such righteous anger. Anger at a world that you would have saved, would have gladly given a helping hand to, would have gladly _died_ for. But then again, you never really lived much. You're angry about that too.

You're angry about so many things. Sometimes it cracks your mind as easily as the word 'crucio' flows from your lips.

But when the rage has run out and the sorrow has run it's course, you are left with nothing but:

Hopelessness.

And it is in this that you belong to me.

Shunned, outcasted, everyone you loved was long gone and you dangled there by a thread, a braided loop made of fibers. A life short, but lived in agony. All you knew was pain.

I took the choice from your hands. I cut the rope. I watched you fall to the floor. I picked you back up, dusted you off, and brought the wayward son home.

I blocked your path to the crossroads.

I have given you life.

This is your last obstacle and then, freedom.

"Do it."

* * *

I know things: hard things, evil things, things I shouldn't know.

I shouldn't know dark magic.

It's something cold and warm inside, it's fuzzy and warm and rewarding, but somehow, also cold. The cold doesn't leave me chilled. I'm usually laughing too much to be chilled. Why? It tickles.

They think I'm like Bellatrix, that I've gone mad, that I'm numb to my victims pain, that I mock their agony. But I'm not laughing at them. I wouldn't laugh at someone while they're screaming, not even now. I'm just not that type of person.

Sometimes I don't think I ever will be.

And I'm fine with that. Unlike when I was new to this, it now makes me feel slightly better when I laugh while they scream, because I know I'm not laughing _because_ they scream. I'm laughing because I can't control the feeling inside me, the joy, the ticklishness inside my head. I can't stop laughing.

But I should.

I shouldn't know darkness.

Hatred, anger, revenge, greed, jealousy, lust, murder, it seems like everyday something new is added to my rap sheet, my list of mistakes. They try to get me to call them triumphs, and I do for their sake, but I know they are mistakes. I know right from wrong, still.

I feel like a phoenix. I've lived, I've died, I've come back, and no matter how many times I die, I can't stop wanting to live.

But I should.

I shouldn't know _him._

I shouldn't know that he is always cold, that his favorite place in the manor is curled up as close to the fire as possible. I know how cold blooded he is, how he steals my warmth at night, curling around me, seeking heat. Sometimes when I have a nightmare, I can turn back and look at those scarlet eyes, watching me blearily, waiting for me to close my eyes again.

I can't stop feeling safe in his arms.

Should I?

Do I care? I think somewhere deep down I do. I think I've only forgotten. Maybe I should remember? But I do remember. It's the reason I haven't gone mad yet. It's the only reason I've stayed sane, even through all my use of dark magic. I always remember the most important rule: know thyself.

And I do.

I know that I care about him. I know that at first, he only cared about the horcrux when he cut the noose. I know that he cares about me now, in ways he couldn't before his mind healed.

I shouldn't know these things. I shouldn't be doing these things. I shouldn't be enjoying some of the things I'm enjoying.

I always make a point to remember that, because the day that I forget that is the day I lose my mind, and I'm not crazy. I won't be crazy. Not in this lifetime.

The world thinks I'm crazy, the ministry hates me, the death eaters envy me, the order keeps trying to kill me, my old friends scorn me, and my new friends hiss and slither down my arms, whispering their secrets in my ears, his ears, _our_ ears.

I am the heir of the houses of Potter and Black, the seeker, the snitch, the Gryffindor, the Slytherin. I am the distant cousin of Lord Voldemort, the descendent of Godric Gryffindor.

I am the boy who loved, the boy who lied, the boy who lived, the boy who died.

I am the dark consort.

Don't underestimate the things that I will do.

"Avada Kedavra."


End file.
